Decoding
by SonataForMyOverdosedLover
Summary: Behind The Lost Archive. building up memories. we shall start with the end...


The old clock on the wall showed half past nine.

The young woman let out a sigh of frustration and arranged her white more days of work and then holiday – away from the infernal temperatures of Rome. But until then, today was clearly not her day. Even the damn piece of fabric refused to stay right and it felt as if the cordon was crushing her stomach.

She heard gasps coming from outside and she spun like a humming top. Biting her lip she sprinted though the opened glass doors cursing the morning gust of wind that had knocked off the fliers from the table and had turned the corners of the tablecloths upside down.

She grabbed the plastic fliers from the ground and while she fixed back the tablecloth she smiled at the two customers at a table nearby who were sharing her amusement at the misfortune.

"Can I bring you something else?' she smiled cordially. The bartender used to say that she has a smile that would bright up even a rainy day. But she wasn't sure if she should truly believe him or that was just his way of trying to get into her pants.

One of the men lowered the papers from his hands and after checking with his companion he shook his head.

"No, _grazie carina_. Ah, maybe if you could come back in a little while to change the ashtray."

"Of course." Her head went down and up in a youthful gesture and her smile only got bigger. The woman, barely past twenty years old, turned around to check the view in front of Caffè Rosati. It was a terribly hot summer day even for Rome. At least the wind was blowing this morning and thankfully the deep blue sky had no clouds that would announce rain. Piazza del Popolo was already filled with life; people coming and going, parents pushing prams, children laughing and playing, owners walking their dogs and now and then a speeding bicycle. The omnipresent vespas were there to complete the typical summer morning of the sleepless capital of Italy.

Whilst for the outdoors of the café, besides the two business men, only two more tables were occupied – one by two extremely vociferous ladies, with their identical Vuitton bags, probably ready to go shopping down Via del Corso, and at a small round table at the end of the caffè, a lady, one of her regular customers, sipping from her latte macchiato and reading the newspaper. Well, technically she was one of Angelo"s customers but he had called to say that he"ll be a little late today and she had to start the shift earlier to cover him. Her eyes fell on the woman"s table and she smiled; Angelo was not here yet but she already knew his routine. And on that note she was ready to go inside and grab a vase when the deafening sounds of police cars speeding down Via Luisa di Savoia sent the piazza in immediate silence followed by a compact buzz of questions and fret. The woman stepped out through the alley between the tables and managed to catch through the openings of the Porta del Popolo the red colours and the spinning alarm of an ambulance.

She frowned. The waitress wanted to step even further but a voice from inside the caffè stopped her.

"Bianca! What is happening?" She looked one more time over her shoulders at the poor angle she had at the main street, and with a concerned face and constantly biting her lower lip, she turned towards the door and entered the caffé.

At the bar Luigi, with his arms crossed over the wooden countertop and a toothpick at the corner of his mouth, was waiting for an answer. In the doorway behind him leading to the kitchen was one of the cooks.

She shrugged, still confused.

"I am not sure. Probably an accident. I saw an ambulance speeding down Via Luisa." She sighed and looked down at nothing in particular, her thoughts lost in between the legs of the empty tables. "I just hope nobody was badly hurt."

She heard the nasty sound that Luigi made with the toothpick between his teeth.

"Ah, would you be kind to fill one of those crystal vases with some fresh water?" the woman finally addressed to the man in the doorway.

He nodded and without questioning he disappeared inside the kitchen.

"Give me an ashtray from behind the bar please." She approached the bar but kept looking outside at the increasing fret in the piazza. People were making their way to the main street, driven by curiosity. Whatever was happening it couldn't be very far because she could still hear the alarms of the police cars even from inside.

She was startled by the snapping of fingers in front of her.

"Eei! Bianca! Wake up!" She looked at the amused bartender. "Here. Have your ashtray."

"Ah... grazie."

"And here is your vase."

She gave a halfhearted smile and grabbed the two objects, going again outside. The waitress placed the new ashtray at the men's table taking the old one away. Both of them were also interested in the new situation.

She set the ashtray on the frame of a window, and when she was about to make her with the vase to the woman's table, she stopped at the sight of Angelo's scooter arriving from around the corner. She walked to the place he was parking, right next to the caffé, and waited for him to take off his helmet. The man did as such and while getting off he smiled at her.

"Ciao, Bianca!" The man kissed her on the forehead. "What is with that long face? Don't tell me it's because you had to cover for me for half an hour?"

"Ah, no; don't worry about that." She looked behind, towards the place from where the alarms were still on. She watched as the people from piazza were suddenly running past the caffé, up the alley her friend had come from. "I wish I'd know what's happening. Has there been an accident?"

"Ah that. No, no accident." His face suddenly darkened. "I'm coming from across Regina Margherita. They are all gathered at the bank of Tiber near the bridge and the police are placing cordons to enclose the area. Apparently they found a body in the river this morning."  
The young woman inhaled abruptly unprepared for such news. She was shocked and her lips almost trebled.

"No! But- but how; where…"

"I don't know. I would have stopped to find out more but people were already gathering along the borders and the bridge; it was almost impossible to see anything. And I was late anyway."

She frowned and almost glared at him.

"Here, hold this. You take it to the woman's table and take care of things for me."

The man found himself with the vase pushed in his arms.

"What? Where are you going? You can't leave like that!"

"Oh come on, there aren't many people. You can manage without me for a couple of minutes." She looked around at the tables, where the two men were debating over the news they had overheard, the two women already on their feet at the corner of the caffé, trying to communicate with the people leaving the piazza towards the bridge and the other woman, still seated, unperturbed, reading from her newspaper.

With that she sprinted though the tables and around the corner, running as fast as she could up via Ferdinando di Savoia.

Without another option the man sighed and watched the vase in his hand. He looked up, and leaving his scooter he went to the table, smiling at the woman.

"_Buona mattina, signora_. How are you today?"

Bianca only stopped when she reached the street parallel to the river. She started to huff heavily to recover her breath.

The cars of the police were parked not far from her and people were swarming like insects at the corner of the bridge and the cement parapet. She ran across the steer and started to push her way through the sea of people. It wasn't that she was macabre or anything; just curious. In fact she hated anything that had to do with death; she even hated people who were depressed. In her opinion life was a gift and you should enjoy it; find a reason to smile out of anything. But she needed to see. Her curiosity would get the best of her. Her petite form managed to squeeze easily though people and she found herself with her hands on the sun warmed parapet. Because of the powerful sun reflecting in the water of the river she had to narrow her eyes to focus on what was happening below.

There was the ambulance, with the backdoors opened and the black suites of the policemen were all gathered and towering over something she could barely see because of them. It must have been the body.

She leaned over, narrowing her eyes even more powerfully. At times they would move or change position allowing her momentarily glimpses. She caught sight of the black body bag. Someone was taking notes, near the body whilst the person who must have been the medical examiner was talking and giving indications over the body.

She frowned. People were whispering and she started to listen. It's the easiest way to get information in cases like this. Word is traveling fast because people want to know, to gossip, to give their own opinions. But the woman knew better than to take everything as legit. She knew how to make the difference between what can be real and made-up stories. So she listened and registered facts.

"Oh, it's a young man. Have you seen him? How does he look? I hope it's no one we know."

"No, no, poor thing. The crew of a ferryboat spotted the body floating on the river. Thank god they had no tourists yet – imagine the shock and the public image."

And then, for a couple of seconds, someone got up from near the body and she managed to see it. Her heart started to beat faster. It was indeed a young man, probably in his late twenties, blond sandy hair, but god, white as a ghost. His skin was almost purple. For how long had the body been in the water?

Her lips pushed in a thin line and she covered her mouth with both her hands. She squeezed her eyelids and brought her face down, away from the scene. She felt a knot in her throat and a sharp snivel left her mouth.

"Do they know who he is?"

"No. I heard the policeman say he had no papers on him."

The woman had to control her instincts. Why did she insist to come here? She let out a long trembled breath to calm herself and tried to open her eyes. Still she was not prepared to watch the scene again so she focused on the bad graffiti at her feet, continuing to listen to what people were whispering.

"Oh no, did you hear? I was right. They say he committed suicide."

"God forbid! At such a young age! What is happening to this world? To take his own life when he had so much ahead of him!"

"Yes…they heard the medics say he has his wrists sliced."

Another gasp escaped from the old lady.

Her lips were trembling again, at the image. Biting to keep them from letting out other sounds she raised her eyes numbly searching the crowd for a distraction. She stopped when she saw a familiar face. Among the people, like a statue with her hand leaning over her bag, and her summer dress, was one of the ladies from the caffé. She, like the rest of the people had come to witness the event. She was not moving, nor fretting like the rest. Her expression was unreadable because of the stylish sunglasses covering her eyes. For a moment the young woman was really, really curious of how would she look without the glasses. Her hair was clipped in a low messy bun and long, rich earrings were falling halfway to the shoulders. But she was looking with a steel insistence at the scene below them. She wished she could have the woman's courage to stare death in the face. Slowly, as if encouraged by the firm attitude she started to look back at the place where the policemen were still gathered.

Now the body was halfway in the body bag, his upper part still visible for the curious eyes. Had it really been suicide? For someone like her, taking your own life seemed like the most stupid thing a person can do. She tried to look past the condition of the body. What would push someone like him to do such a thing? He must have been quite good looking. From that distance she couldn't see his eyes – not that it would make much of a difference – but she couldn't help wondering what color they must have been. She'd go for blue. What kind of life did he have? She averted her eyes from the body for a short time and chose to get lost for a moment in the oriental motifs of the woman's dress. She walked her eyes up to the long pendant necklace she had around her neck. The golden pendant looked weird with its encircled triangle and strange letters but it fit with the rest. She looked stylish, that woman - something that her small salary would never allow her to be. Not that she cared much about money. Hmm… how strange, her confused mind thought. Of course, people who choose to commit suicide in Rome usually throw themselves in the Tiber, but if the man had already cut his wrists why would he also jump off a bridge? Come to think of it, it didn't make much sense.

With that she found herself watching one of the policemen slowly zipping the bag over his face. Blue…definitely, his eyes must have been blue.

So lost in her thoughts, she barely realized that people were starting to leave the scene. She sighed. Maybe it was time for her to go as well. Angelo was going to scold her. One last time she looked up to her right but the woman was not there anymore. She had vanished through the people that were going back to their routine.

She didn't feel like running anymore. Instead, she let her feet carry her back to the caffé.

The wind was bringing her short ponytail to the sides of her face. With a small sad laughter she thought how Angelo was going to send her right to the bathroom to take care of her appearance because the run and the wind had probably made a mess out of her hair.

That morning she thought she would have a bad day but now she was considering how much she was taking happiness for granted. What of that man's family? How would they feel when there will be a knock at their door and a policeman will stare at them with an expression filled with pity? What of the people who knew him? Those who cared for him? Did he have a girlfriend? A wife? Someone he left behind? What about his life? She thought back at those eyes… funny. Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the pity but for a reason or another he was starting to look familiar. What are the chances of strangers meeting more than once in life? How would she feel knowing that he might have stopped at the caffé to drink something? Or maybe that he was one of the millions of faces passing through Piazza del Popolo. It that was the case she wished she would have noticed him… maybe smile at him, maybe wave at him and wish him a good day. Maybe it would have made a difference.

With the hands in the pockets of her apron, she was now at the corner of the caffé. She looked up from the ground. Angelo was taking orders. New people were now seated outside, and the day was ticking out as if nothing of extraordinary had happened. It felt a little bit unfair. She sighed and prepared to do the same as the others: return to the dull activities of the day. She looked at the table that the lady with the newspaper had left vacant. The newspaper was still there, next to the bill and the empty cup. She decided to start from there. She put the bill and the money inside the apron and took the newspaper and the cup in her hands.

Realizing something, she tilted her head in confusion.

"What? No white azalea today?" she shouted over her shoulder at Angelo.

"No."

"How strange… she would always bring a white azalea with her." But the woman continued more to herself.

She spun around and made her way to the doors of the caffé.

"But why a white lily out of a sudden?"

"I don't know Bianca! I didn't ask." The answer betrayed annoyance at her constant curiosity. "Now, what the hell happened to your hair? Go right now at the bathroom to refresh yourself. What will customers believe?"

The girl snickered at his reaction and waited for the man to get in first. She brought the cup to the bar and went to place the newspaper in the corner next to the others.

Luigi was scribbling something on a notebook on the bar.

"Hey, what day is today?"

"Eight of August, 2012, my lovely bird." She mocked him.

"Yeah, thanks."

The waitress smiled and looked up one more time, though the windows of the caffé, at the lily in the vase before passing her hands though her hair, pulling off the tie and walking towards the bathroom door.

.

"_Venite, venite gente a ver il pagliazzo nella piazza!" __(Come, come people to see the clown in the Square!_) A mad man, dressed in clown attire was yelling his lungs out near the obelisk. A gust of powerful wind ripped one of the balloons out of his grasp and carried it through the chairs outside Caffé Rosati. It went up, almost knocking the vase from the table in the corner. The white petals of the flower trembled madly only to die again when the wind was over.

.


End file.
